Dear Dr. Babooner,
I work in a tiny collection booth in a parking lot near the university. I started as a student there about thirty years ago, but I never made it through the philosophy courses I needed and dropped out a few credits shy of graduation. So six days a week, fifty two weeks a year I climb into my little glass-and-plywood box to scan tickets and make change. It’s a pretty crummy job – kind of like sitting out in a open field all day except I get extra helpings of car exhaust. Now the weather forecast says a historic cold wave is coming on Sunday night and Monday morning, and everybody around me is in a panic over it. The Governor has closed all the schools in the state, but he doesn’t have the power to cancel my job so I’ll basically put every last piece of clothing I own, just like I do most every day in the month of January, and head in.
I’ve made a name for myself by being chatty and pleasant when drivers stop at the window to pay their fees. I joke with them and smile and wish them a pleasant day and I never complain about anything even though some people try to get me to do it, especially when the weather is extreme. Of course I’d like an air conditioner or a space heater, do you think I’m not human? But the customers will never hear me say it because I’m trying to project a more positive image. They’ve given me a cute nickname because I’m so upbeat, even though every now and then someone wonders how I handle the tedium of such a dead end job. I usually say “You’re the one who’s driving into a dead end and paying me for the privilege. So I’ll take my job over yours any day.” We both have a good laugh over that but what I’m really thinking is “My job wouldn’t be so tedious if you weren’t so boring.”
It’s important to know the difference in the way it feels to say something out loud as opposed to just saying it in your head. So far so good.
Anyway, on Monday I know a bunch of my customers will encourage me to gripe about the cold. I’m determined not to do it but I’m afraid hypothermia might make me slightly delusional and I could slip and start to get crabby about how they don’t insulate the booth and how bringing a space heater would short out the cheapskate power strip they put in and that would crash the computer and cause a back up in the exit lane which would lead to a lot of fist-shaking rage and refund demands not to mention the huge plume of exhaust that would collect around my work area, which would probably give me lung cancer and make me die, though not soon enough.
Obviously those are some pretty dark thoughts. I pretend to be upbeat but I might be a nihilist though I’m not sure. If I asked one of the professors to explain existential philosophy to me while I ran her Visa card, the cars would back up in the exit lane which would lead to a lot of fist-shaking rage and refund demands and so forth and so on and we would wind up in the same unhappy place. And now comes this weather, which really has me down.
Dr. Babooner, I don’t really have a question for you, I just wanted to say things to someone in a string of words that lasts for more than eight seconds. Thanks for hearing me out and have an awesome day!
Sincerely,
Cheerful Chuck
I told Cheerful Chuck to keep up the good work. Having a job that gives you lots of time to think and very little time to speak is much better than having a job with lots of time to speak and very little time to think, which is what you get when you’re a politician, a pundit or a disc jockey. But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Trail Baboon 
Chuck, I admire your perseverance and acceptance of reality. Doubtlesss you realize it is only a matter of time before you are replaced by a pay station. For now, you have something millions of Americans long for, a full time job.
You are in a booth, not at a closely observed desk, so you can read, or perhaps write. Ask chitrader, best way to become a writer is go write.
Monday will be tough. Bundle up, make sure you have plenty of something warm in a thermos and bring a sleeping bag. Then sit back and revel in the sympathy and rejoice you can afford a warm place to go home to.
Cheering you on. If I find myself in your neighborhood, I just want to know, do you prefer your hot chocolate with dark or milk chocolate?
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Tasty response, mig.
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Good morning. I am at home alone most of the time and usually don’t have anyone available to engage in a conversation. I wouldn’t mind if some people dropped by to chat for a brief spell in the way they do where you are working, Chuck. You might like it if there were people who would stay a little longer so you could have more than a very brief exchange with them. However, it is probably good that some of them move on quickly. You probably don’t want to hear what certain people might say if they had the opportunity to tell you more of what they have on their minds.
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One of the secrets of happiness, Chuck, is to focus on other people’s suffering. That makes it hard to focus on your own. When you go to work on Monday, remember that your customers will all be in pain, too. Some of them will be anticipating the cold walk from their car to the next classroom. Surprise them. Devote your day to making their brief contact with you one of the brightest moments in their day. Perhaps you could offer them a little hot cocoa with marshmallows. Or a joke about the weather. Make a game of jolting them into good humor. Your day will go quickly.
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Cheerful Chuck, you remind me of another parking lot attendant I knew years ago. Only he was an English major and had a degree, but the jobs that qualified him for were of no interest to him. He loved his job in a lot near Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. He visited each morning with his “regulars” and sent us off to our daily grind with a smile on our faces. He had ample time to think, read, and write. Since most of his customers were parking on a monthly contract, there was no need to interact with him every day, but most of us did anyway. It was always fun to swap book recommendations and tidbits of news with him. He was a prime example of someone who bloomed where he was planted.
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chuck i think its time to get the electricity fixed or get a propane heater with one of those little disy heaters on top of it. if the computer goes out when you plug it in then you will just have to fill a cigar box with money and tell the boss to put a bigger fuse in the electric box. as far as being chatty on a 20 below day. forgetaboutit. now is not the time to get inquisitive. wait for april. exestential philosophy… never mind asking, a book by sarte or kierkegaard between cars should be better than a professors passing thought.
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garrison did a bit around this time of year where he was talking about the angels coming to tell the shepards that the lord was born and was laying in a manger. he said the shepards were surprised they were the ones being told. they watched sheep. this is the equivalent to being a parking lot attendant, not real high up on the job list pecking order. i admire pjs guy for being able to bloom. i love people like that where ever i find them. i do revert back to garrisons story when i ma having an exchange with one of those folks in the little box these days. i wonder what they would do if the lord came and passed a message through them.
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The lord would have to have the correct change, I think, .
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🙂
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OT – I memory of Phil Everly who has just passed away:
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About 20 years ago the then Democratic governor of ND, George Sinnner, closed the schools for a day because of record cold wind chills. Boy, was he soundly condemned for that decision, especially out here in the western part of the state. The current governor, a Republican from the same town as George Sinner (Casselton, the eastern burg where the oil tanker cars derailed and blew up), not to be outdone by Governor Dayton but not wanting to repeat Governor Sinner’s gaffe, is leaving it up to the local Superintendents of schools. If you can’t stand the cold, you shouldn’t live here, I guess.
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Balance and the lack thereof: I have just finished two books on the deprivation of pioneer life in the first years of settlement of the Dakotahs (as it is spelled in the books). Then I keep seeing this ad with a modern whinny young mother complaining about the horrors of having to open the tailgate of a van by hand. We cannot say it is a nice convenience to be able to wave your foot and have the door open, we have to make it seem simply terrible to have to make an effort. Next it will be why do I have to wave my foot. We cannot say maybe a elected official made an error but have to scream for his hide. We either want kids to never be out in the cold or we are willing to take large risks instead of thinking there is a balance point on such a decision which may not be quite right but good for official for making an effort.
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Clyde.. names of books?
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I once hunted pheasants with George Sinner. He was a cool dude, a good sport and a damn fine shot.
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George’s brother is a priest. What a wonderful name, “Father Sinner”. We have hopes for one of George’s sons to enter state politics.
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George jumped over three feet of a four-foot wide creek. Filled with ice water. Aides rushed up to help him. He said reflectively, “And all I brought was this one pair of cheap shit shoes.”
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🙂
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Chuckly Chuck: fifty years ago the 14 story elevators at the U hospitals had operators, women of course, during the prime business hours but were otherwise user-operated. In other words the women had jobs that were really pointless or were a hangover from the days before push button elevators. These women rode up and down, albeit in prime temperature, for eight hours/day asking for floor numbers and announcing floor numbers.
One woman was famous for her brightness, if not warmth as such and for how she announced the numbers. She would say the number and then in a softer voice add numbers to it (” nine . .. hundred . . . fourteen thousand etc.) or repeat the number in other languages or add details like “nine . . . miles to Tipporary” or several other tricks. She did this floor after floor, day after day, year after year. I never heard anyone verbally respond to this. It was just part of the scene. You often thought by the look of her that she was not far from being a permanent of the 6th floor locked ward.
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I love it when people personalize their turf. I’ve been on buses where the bus driver of that particular route, at that particular hour, greeted each rider, knew where they got off, and just generally made an effort to interact in a friendly fashion with each individual.
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My first summer in San Francisco, my roommate and I (fresh from Iowa State) had to get temporary jobs while looking for teaching jobs. Cindy ended up being an elevator operator in an old downtown San Francisco building, can’t remember which. I don’t believe she was quite as innovative as the one you describe, Clyde, but she did come home with stories of some interesting people. Almost drove her nuts, though…
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OT- Since we don’t seem to have a lot going on on the trail right now, I thought I’d share a message from an old pal from my college days who I have just recently reconnected with on Facebook. His reference to “block Dick” has to do with a message that I sent him, saying that back then, in Carbondale, I had no idea that he liked folk music. To this he responded that he met me playing touch football, and I said, “you called that touch foorball?” He kept screaming at me “Block Dick,” our much larger neighbor. “Margaret, you were a small piece of leather, but well put together…asked no quarter and gave none. Was I exhorting you to block Dick Allen? You knew Kurt and I hung out with Brett Champlin, still a friend, and many other folkies then–I used to drink beer at Pizza King with Scarlett Rivera, Donna Shea then, who ended up being Dylan’s fiddler on The Rolling Thunder Revue…you’re cracking me up…” Fun times.
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I keep hoping FB will turn up something fun like that, PJ. Not yet.
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Another OT, R.T. Rybak is reported to have suffered a heart attack while cross county skiing today, but i sufficiently recovered to have tweeted “By the way the ski trails at Wirth are awesome today” from his hospital bed. Apparently he took a page from Cheerful Chuck’s playbook.
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He could have done much worse. Thanks, Linda.
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Remind me to stay home Sunday.
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And Monday.
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Good morning. Everybody has to go to the post office to get their mail in our small town. There is no delivery to the houses. The post master, like Chuck, sees people coming and going by his work station numerous times during the day. He doesn’t have any limit on how long he can visit with the people passing through and does do a lot of visiting. Also, like Chuck, he is always friendly. I think he is very much appreciated by the town’s people due to his cheerful greetings and his willingness to chat with his customers.
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Here’s what you can do to help the day go by tomorrow: stop at a party supply store and get a bunch of tropical-themed party decorations. There probably isn’t room for an inflatable palm tree, but you could put up garlands, tape things to the windows of your little booth, hang some crepe paper pineapples from the ceiling. Buy yourself a grass skirt to wrap around your down coat. Tuck your thermos of hot beverage into a coconut. Break out the Hawaiian ukulele music or perhaps reggae. Dance around in your little paradise between customers. Pass out leis to your regular customers. Just another day in paradise. 😀
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To add to the tropical theme Chuck could set up snowman or woman by his both and dress it up with a grass skirt and a leis. That might be some way he could put up the inflated palm tree between his both and Hawaiian snow man or woman.
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When Teenager was about 7 we had a tropical birthday (she turns 19 in just two weeks!!!!). One of the fun things we did was have the kids take their shoes off when they came in, stick their feet in red, blue or yellow paint and then they walked the length of a big piece of kraft paper. Looked like footprints in the sand when it dried.
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Afternoon–
To cross lines here and comment on a Baboondocks post, I have been observing Harris, one of my outdoor dogs, (and only observing him more because he’s one I run to actually see him poop), He’s gone three times facing North and once South. I think maybe it’s for odoriferous porpoises…
As for Chuck, No job is worth frostbite. Tell your boss if he wants it so bad he can work it. Put the ‘honor bucket’ out and stay home.
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Ben — thank you SO MUCH. Now I know I’m not the only one still thinking about this topic and watching my dogs do their duty in the backyard! The Irish Setter is blowing holes in the theory, as she’s a “mover”; each episode results in two to three different orientations!
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Daisy’s favorite spots are dependent on her rear end being protected by a fence and where she knows she can later retrieve the poopsicles, it seems to be mostly an east and west orientation, which I attribute to the location of the fence and her ability to face the house while doing her business. Don’t know why that’s important, but apparently it is.
Nap time before Downton Abbey.
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Brrr! The wind chill just hit -50. Our old van is ouside in the driveway.It won’t start. It has a flat tire. We had to push it back so we could get our other van out of the garage. Yuck. Thank goodness for AAA.
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I’ll second that. We have our car back and charged again, thanks to AAA (and Toyota).
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Went to Jerabek’s this afternoon and got my Secret Santa gift. It was a lovely Christmas stocking with glitter pawprints, containing some sweet treats. Someone must have known I have cats – hence the pawprints. But who? How did they know?
Perhaps I announced it via the generous supply of cat hair on my clothing.
Also today: the coffee grinder lid returned and was embraced with joy.
The boiler is still clanking away in the basement. So far, so good.
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And where WAS the coffee grinder lid?
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It had leaped into a basket on the floor of the pantry.
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Speaking as a former U of M parking lot attendant, my opinion is biased, to say the least. I thought it was a great job for a music ed. major who appreciated the down time so he could practice his trumpet or work on his music history assignment from Dr. Loudon’s class.(YAWN)
As I recall, the mid-70s were the end of a mini ice age, and I endured many a frostbitten early morning schlepping my regulars into the various surface lots. But the space heaters worked sufficiently to allow me to practice after the lot was filled in the morning. I imagine it would be a great job for an aspiring writer, too. Work frantically for two hours, see the regulars come in every morning, observe their unique, quirky traits, then muse for four more hours about how to turn these unique characters into viable novel characters.
At the very least, getting up at 5 am to get to a three-by-three shack at 6 am in -30 degrees in order to herd a couple hundred cars into straight double rows and doing it several days a week, no matter what, is pretty good training for showing up at the nice, cushy office job where you can BS for 30 minutes over coffee before going online to check emails, then pretend to work for the rest of the day.
Bottom line: work is in the eye of the “be-worker.” And calling off school for the entire state, three days early(!), is just downright wussy! Thirty below????? Come on. Alaska and 95% of Canada are laughing their asses off right about now.
Chris in Owatonna
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Actually, I think they’re envious, Chris.
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